No Matter What
by Saint Lucifer-The Damned
Summary: A little POV from Brian about events that transpired between him and Michael.


_No Matter What_

_A/N: I didn't like this story at first. It was a ramble that just seemed to have no point until I decided to bring up their argument. Still, it only came to two pages and I just didn't like it. Tempted to delete and try again, I decided to read through and give it more and it became something I really enjoyed. I happen to be a huge fan of angst. There's just so much imagery involved, so many words at your disposal to grasp the different dimensions of emotion. I hope I conveyed that well enough. And I hope you like it too!_

_~SL_

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Brian knew that if you were smart, you didn't count on other people to get things done. You wanted that new car? You find the work to make it happen, you save every penny to get it, or find that brilliant but sneaky way to get someone else to pay for it. You wanted the presentation on time, those art specs? Fuck, you drag your ass down to the art department and dog their asses until it was perfect, but presentable like you never had to try that hard to get it done. You didn't wait for them to screw up. No, you didn't sit around and expect other people to be able to get anything done for you. You had to do it yourself because people would fail you, not disappoint, but fail. He had a lifelong string of people to back this up, but Brian got sick of listening to it himself, he didn't want to throw his own pity party. So, he used to be beaten by a drunken father, fuck it. He's dead now. His mother wants him in hell? The frigid bitch could have her heaven; he'll stick with a nice, tight ass. Clair? His nephews? Debbie and Vic? Emmett and Theodore? Even Horvath shutting him down when he had _everything_ in that case… You didn't depend on people. There was something you could depend on, though.

Determination, sheer force of will, an ever expanding sense of self confidence and a generous amount of intelligence (if he did say so himself) were all part of getting it done. Getting through life. He was a firm believer that you made it your own. Fuck God, fuck prayer and hope to make it a better place, you had to do it yourself. In his world, you did what you had to do for yourself. It was a simple motto to live by. It supported his belief in sex, not love. In and out with the maximum amount of pleasure possible, no baggage, no mess. You handle everything that way and life was easy. Brian imagined himself a testament to that. One that everyone should follow. Take his lead and play the cards right, make something seem more amazing than it really was and everyone would believe… sometimes.

There were moments when he waivered. He didn't admit it often, but it was true. When he realized that he'd been a hypocrite to his own words his whole life. It stung, like a sharp jab to the gut, taking the air out of his lungs. Brian kept reworking the information until it became nothing more than words and then, only then, could he keep going about his life the only way he knew how. He couldn't handle the gut wrenching truth about those moments of clarity. They scared him and he wasn't ready for it, but even worse was when the day came that he _was_ ready to handle it, get back in good graces and was shot down.

They never had good timing, Brian knew that much. When they met, they were too young. It was a different time. Tolerance wasn't the word of choice for the era. Out and proud meant getting your ass beat in school and everyone turning a blind eye. When they were older, it was a time for fun. For firsts. It wasn't a time to settled down and find complacency with each other. Older still, Brian never wanted to give up his life of old. The clubs, the drugs, the tricks and the endless nights. Brian wanted it all while Michael was looking for more. But it was just something to bid his time while he waited for Brian to catch up. Brian was safe with that knowledge, that he would always have Mikey around. No one was going to take that from him no matter what.

Another year older and then they were blessed with a child. No, not Gus, Justin. He came into their lives with all the grace of an overweight ballerina that had two left feet. There was little chance to avoid him after that one night. The one night that was never supposed to be a repeat performance. Brian had little choice but to keep him around, or risk the dynamic he had going in his life. He even liked the idea of raising the kid to be the best homosexual he could be. Like an early swing at parenting with Gus going to need his father around at some point. A practice test, almost. Michael took offense, of course. Here he had been waiting a veritable lifetime for Brian and it seemed like Brian was finally ready… only it wasn't Michael at his side. Over time it was clear that Justin wasn't meant to stay, not really. But by the time that was figured out… well…

Michael was ready and found someone else who was ready. Sure, it wasn't the same. It would never be the same, but Ben was a good man. Something stable, without question (unless life expectancy counted). Brian tried to dissuade him, tell his friend that he should fuck him and forget him. Do what he had to, but don't fall in love with him. It was fear that made his mouth move. Scared Mikey would get HIV, you could only be so safe. Worried that they would fall in love and then Ben would progressively get worse and pass away like Vic. He didn't think Michael could handle it. Not that he didn't have the strength, but Brian didn't want to imagine his friend so strong without him. It was hard to swallow when Ben became something permanent. Not a huge quaking rupture between them like the good doctor had been, but a quiet rift. A soft tearing that neither of them noticed happening until it was too late.

It might've been in Toronto when Brian realized just how far they were stretched to the seams, a few threads barely keeping them together. When Mikey wasn't Mikey anymore. He came to Brian in the bar as Mikey for the last time. Looking up at him, pleading silently for the right answer and Brian thought he had it. Still loved him best, didn't he? Michael _did _still love him best… right? He walked away and before Brian's eyes he saw the happy couple hugging so intensely he knew what the answer had been. The wedding was the next day and he had been told to keep his mouth shut if he valued his balls. Even after the cancer, he did still value the one natural ball left. Hell, Brian even liked the fake ball they added on. He kept his mouth shut, and in his usual manner to overcompensate for just how upset he really had been, he turned it into a party. An overly happy occasion for the newlyweds. He couldn't do anything quietly, after all.

Still, he had hope. Brian was secure in the knowledge that he had been there before Ben and he would be there after Ben. Because that marriage was a farce and everyone knew it. If only for the fact that it wasn't legal in their country or because Brian knew that this wasn't how it was supposed to end. It wasn't right. Either way, it was a farce. A lie. It wasn't real, and for one so intent on burying himself in the never changing 'cheap theatrics' of the nightlife, Brian could tell what was real and what wasn't. He still wasn't ready, not really, but he wanted Michael to be ready for him when he was ready. He couldn't do that while he was 'married'. But there was time still. Sure, they had that little hustler they called son. Hell, even Brian admitted to liking the kid in a fashion, although he still didn't think being straight agreed with him. They still lived in that cramped two bedroom apartment, though. Ben still taught every day at the school and Michael still had his comic shop. That's why the marriage was nothing but smoke and mirrors. It didn't change anything in their world, not really. Brian was content to keep fucking, safe with the idea that as long as they were still only 'partners' living together, even adopting a kid… nothing really changed.

But then they had to do the couple thing and meet other couples. Brian was starting to get fed up with Bruckner. It was all his fault, putting the idea of marriage in Mikey's head. A kid, a home. Michael wasn't like that before. Michael was happy on Liberty Ave with Woody's at eight and Babylon at ten, home whenever. He'd never wanted anything more than that and a relationship. But those gay couples in that bad neighborhood that just wasn't so bad anymore, kind of quaint, actually they all said. Fuck them. Fuck them with their house in a newly renovated neighborhood, with their biological kids that they were able to raise themselves together. Putting ideas in Big Ben's head to pass on to Michael. Before Brian knew it, there was a movie deal giving them a little extra cash and a house on the market where the 'Stepford Fags' were settling down.

Soon after, Michael wasn't wearing his cute two toned sweaters anymore. Superhero tees were at work and the gym was usual attire. Now he was a little mini professor. Button down shirts and slacks in those fashionable colors only gay men seemed to be able to pull off with a careless ease and flair. Not that Michael wasn't hot in them, but it wasn't his Mikey. It wasn't what Brian liked to see him in. He wanted his friend back, they way they used to be. Drinking, dancing and drugging all night until it was time to call it quits and head home, Michael alone and Brian with a full night on his hands. That's how it was supposed to be. But now… now Michael was a biological father. Now he stopped coming to Babylon altogether. Mikey went to work and then went home to play wife and mother to Ben and Hunter. Play the gracious host when they had company and just up and disappear from Liberty Ave. His home. His goddamn home and he abandoned it. That's why Brian got so fucking pissed, but that was why he worked so hard to make it up to him. 'Hard Heroes Night'.

God, wasn't that a fantastic idea? Honestly, Brian considered it to be one of his greatest endeavors for the club. The theatrics, the heroes and all that spandex stretched tight over hard bodies. He'd been telling the truth to Justin when he said he wanted Michael to lose his mind, his bladder control. All of it. A part of him really did expect Michael to piss his pants at the sight. So when he offered the night in his usual manner, by not outright asking him to come and not telling his friend it was for him, just if he could hang the poster in the window… well, he expected more out of Mikey. Not a critical eye and shooting him down, first at the poster, then at showing up to see it. Brian actually had to make a trade. With his best friend, he had to promise his presence with his supposed… what? Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? Fuck. The kid he fucked more than once and more than anyone else. Justin. It was a 'couple's night'. Dinner. If he went to the dinner, Mikey would come to the club.

Forgetting the legal war raging over the baby had been over, that Michael was getting physical custody now, Brian was content, although disgruntled with the idea and agreed to it with a snide comment about how it sounded like show and tell when they were kids with their dicks. Brian could always bring it back to sex flawlessly and seemingly without a hint of guilt or embarrassment of any kind. The dinner had… fuck, the dinner could've gone better. He could've been nicer, he could've tried harder, but he didn't. Thinking back on it, Brian wondered what possessed him to wear the shirt he had. Dear lord, it was ugly. Where had he gotten it from, anyways? Fuck it. Not important now. The point was that he sat through the dinner, made not so polite conversation and expected Michael to show up to Babylon for Hard Heroes. That was the deal. He'd spent the night on the catwalk, eyes ever vigilant on the crowd below, like Rage looking down from a rooftop on all of Gayopolis, patrolling, scanning… waiting. Waiting for Zephyr to show up and help him save the day. Brian waiting for Michael to walk through that door and under those chains and his jaw to drop and see the extent he had gone to for an apology.

Instead, he imagined it all up in his head, the only time he was honest. Brian missed Mikey so badly he was dreaming of his best friend by his side just to tell him that. Just to apologize for being such an ass. That he missed Mikey. But he never showed. He had JR to take care of that night, he had family time. Had to be a good daddy! Had to please his fantasy, his ideal of what it meant to be 'married' and have a family. Brian couldn't take this game anymore, especially after Justin left… again. Not that he missed the confused little shit. Sure, the kid could talk big, but his comprehension skills needed work. Fuck his SAT scores, they didn't mean shit if you didn't know how to apply the right skills in life. Justin wanted what Michael and Ben had. He wanted a lie. He wanted a fucking lie, as if that would make his world complete. Everything Brian had been trying to teach him against wanting or needing.

And then… well, Brian wasn't exactly proud of what happened after that. He was just so angry. So fucking drunk, so goddamn high and pissed. Nothing could sooth the savage beast that he was when he found out Justin had moved in with Michael and Ben. Not a damn thing stopped him from barging up the door and pounding on it so loudly, the professor had to come and open up. Let him while Brian shouted in his face. He had an odd knack for big words, even under the influence. 'Rouse him!' replayed in his mind, Brian smiled slightly. And Michael came tumbling down the stairs in sweats and a t-shirt, bed headed and sleepy eyed, pushing his way into the kitchen to make coffee, assuring his 'hubby' that it was fine, he would handle it.

Michael did anything but handle it. Not the way they usually did. Brian was supposed to rage, get in Mikey's face and he was supposed to accept it. Calm him down and there might be a hug. A kiss and then they would part and the world, their world, would be back to normal. That's what was supposed to happen. Instead, Michael snapped. Brian pushed too far, admitting the held back thoughts he had about the marriage, how it affected Justin. Fuck! Why did he even bother bringing up Justin? He wanted to get through to Mikey, bring him back to Liberty Ave. Take him home and maybe a little more. That wasn't what happened. Brian was told Justin left because of him and who wouldn't? That was when those last few threads snapped and they were no more. That quiet rift? That soft tearing? Now it was a gaping, severed line. There was nothing to hold them together because that night, Brian saw in his best friend's eyes the truth. Michael wasn't waiting around anymore, he was done waiting and had moved on. Completely. He didn't care that Justin had left, he cared that Michael had left him. Everyone was supposed to leave except him. Mikey was always his exception, no matter what. Still, he was always given a second chance. That's how this worked!

Brian had apologized in his own fashion. Rather than just saying the words, instead he had offered his casual indifference of the life Michael chose, expecting it to be enough like it always was. 'If you want to be a Stepford fag its fine by me' rang back through his head. That was all he could muster up in the form of 'sorry'. Michael hadn't said a word, just waiting, expecting more and yet resigned that this was what he was going to get. Brian took the resigned silence as acceptance and went to put his arms around his oldest friend. The friend that forgave him every time he fucked up, no matter how big. His best friend. Michael has shoved him away. Anyone who walked by would've been confused, almost as confused as Brian was and he hesitated before inching forward again and having that same hand hold him back.

Disbelief didn't even begin to cover the look on Brian's face. And he looked like he'd be slapped, maybe so far as to say violated when Michael had decided for both of them that... that just because they had been friends their whole live didn't mean they had to keep being friends. That they had nothing in common anymore. It was an easy slide back into the cool facade with a well trained eye that regarded the person before him. By Michael's words, he had no right to call him friend. And Brian had no choice but to treat him as such, Michael would no longer give him that tiny bit of wiggle room and a hug. That wasn't his Mikey anymore, that was Ben's Michael standing in front of him... denying him. And for what? Because on a drunken rampage he had insisted that Michael and Big Ben's happy home had 'infected' Justin? That was even what it was supposed to be about! Christ…

That was a fucking dumb reason to deny him forgiveness, Brian was sure of that. He was drunk and high that night. He had formed something of an apology, how the hell could Mikey turn him down like that? It was just something that reassured him. Told him he needed to stick to his guns. Now was not the time for them, Brian decided. Their timing had always been awful, but they never... never severed ties like this, so formally. So calmly. And, ever the business man that he was, Brian played it right back. Mikey might have needed him, wanted him and waited for him… but Michael didn't do any of those things. Or even want them anymore. How the fuck did it get this bad?

But what could he do? Salvage what little dignity he had left and use it the only way he knew how. Brian's state of mind later that night, loaded on beer and E only fueled him to the dance floor. The E made everything better, made him crawl into the writhing flesh of the crowd and be part of it, breathe the music and drink in every touch and brush against his skin. It was hot under pulsing lights that made him feel like he was underwater and watching lightening streak by, lighting up the room. He couldn't remember being angry at Mikey, yes he was still Mikey now under the calming tendrils of E through him, he could even see why his best friend was still so pissed at him. It was like he had crawled right inside his friend's head and could _see _it. All this realized while Brian drowned in that thumpa-thumpa on the dance floor that washed over him.

Eyes closed, head up towards the lights that played interesting colors across the inside of the lids, he swayed. He wasn't a provocative dancer in the sense that he threw his body out on the floor, sliding up on the nearest body to grab attention. That wasn't his style. He preferred to fall into the music and get caught up in the thumping tidal wave of sound pushing through him. Arms up over his head, or down by his side, he enjoyed his time alone on the floor as much as he did with Mikey. He didn't dance with tricks, he used to the floor to pick them up, murmuring into their ears over the thundering sounds and pull them to the backroom or to the loft. But Michael… that time was special and between them. Only he wasn't here now. He never was anymore. It didn't matter what theme he created or whatever manner he used to grovel… Michael was never coming back. So what would Brian do about that?

The backroom, his home away from home, those dark walls that muffled that deep beat that matched the one in his chest. Brian finds himself panting as he leans against a wall, both hands on the side of some trick's head, petting through the hair rather than guiding his mouth. Everything feels good right now, Brian would be willing to name this as the best fucking blowjob he's ever gotten, although that little voice in his head knows it's the drugs talking. Because he always feels this way on these nights where he can't fucking stand the idea of thinking. He doesn't want to stay angry, he doesn't want to be as lonely as he feels. He actually can't feel these things right now under the influence, but he's aware of them. All Brian wants is for his motto to make sense again, blur that image of Mikey's disapproving face behind his tightly shut lids. Brian just wants everything back to normal. Fuck love.

"Fuck. Love," he muttered, making the trick glance up at him, lips still wrapped tightly around his cock. Brian wanted to tell him that he should, too. That the guy who had a fairly talented tongue shouldn't be looking for anything more than this. Not just from Brian, but from anyone. But he was busy forgetting what happened with a quick twist of the stranger's tongue, arching off the wall, the experience ten times more complete with his party favors running amuck through his system. Heaven was the word, and for a blasphemer like Brian, he didn't use it often. But, God, did it feel good. Like a weight off his shoulders. Now he could go back to his cheap theatrics. Now he could go face the world as the King they thought he was.

Brian grunted, pushing off the wall. "Thanks."

He smiled through his haze, tucking himself back into his pants. Snickering as he ambled away from the trick and back out to the floor. And everything seemed okay again, working his way through the crowd, rocking to the beat, mesmerized. You didn't depend on anyone in this life, even best friends would let you down, but he would come back. Mikey always came back no matter what, and that was a familiar beat Brian danced to until the club shut down in the morning. No other thoughts but these, never knowing that he really was ready, but he was just too late. Brian couldn't admit defeat. But he could dance and dream and know, in the most powerful ways that friendship provided, that even if they would never be ready… they would always be together. No matter what.

_A/N: I'm tempted to do a companion piece with the same title, only from Michael's side. Probably not the same situation or fight (I really hate rehashing the same story over and over again), but something along the same lines. I'm still not sure though. Feedback on the idea is appreciated if you wanna voice your opinion. And I hope you enjoyed it and you'll read the next one I pop out!_

_~SL_


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